


Take Care of You

by queenklu



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, still not in this fandom lalalalala
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 10:37:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1685294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenklu/pseuds/queenklu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>'And if you let me here's what I'll do, I'll take care of you.'</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Care of You

"Sid?"

"Hey." Sid somehow manages a wave with both hands shoved deep into his pockets, shoulders hunched and the darkest pair of sunglasses on his face, hair wild around his ears. "Just checking in on you."

"Check on me?" Geno blinks, leaning harder on the doorframe to take his weight off his crutches. "Sid—you have _concussion_. You drive here?”

"Cab." Sid shoulders are creeping higher by the second. "Jordy said you were up for company, but if you—I can call the cab back."

"No!" Geno yelps; Sid flinches, and Geno feels worse. "No," he says again, quieter, "Please, inside. You surprise me."

Sid almost smiles on his way inside, and Geno makes sure to knock shoulders as he passes, even if it leaves him dangerously unbalanced. Sid catches him with a hand on his ribs before Geno can topple too far, and a memory kicks Geno so hard in the head he wonders if he’s the one with the concussion—him and Sid in this doorway a month ago, chest-to-chest and breathing hard, Sid’s hands possessive on his hips and Sid’s mouth hungry on his neck. Geno can almost feel the set of Sid’s teeth on his collarbone now, the playful nipping bite that had brought everything crashing down. Not a good Russian boy, wanting that. Liking it.

He hasn’t seen Sid in his house since then. It feels like a dream, now, following Sid into the kitchen— _would_ feel like a dream if not for his damn crutches and his fucking knee. He sits when Sid glares at him over his sunglasses, and the next fifteen minutes Geno tracks Sid puttering around in the cabinets, fiddling with the stove.

He gets lost in the shape of Sid’s hands, the breadth of his shoulders tapering down to his waist. The lashes on his cheek behind his glasses, when he turns his head just right for Geno to see. He looks tired.

Geno feels like he blinks and Sid’s setting down a tea set on the table, plain white cup, saucer, and pot. He even got out the sugar dish and creamer. Geno doesn’t know what to do.

Except.

"Sid, you too," he says, croaks, and Sid goes still, his mouth a thin, flat line. He grabs a Pens mug from the cupboard, gold and black and chipped in one corner, fills it with tea from the flawless white porcelain pot. He’s not subtle. But he does take off the sunglasses.

"Is it good?"

"Yes," Geno says. He can’t taste it, but he’s sure it is. Back—before, when he told himself he didn’t realize how close to the precipice they were, when it was just locker room joking and practice flirting, it had to be, Sid made it his mission to learn how to make Russian tea. Said there were good antioxidants in it, and he wanted to show it to their trainers. Geno doesn’t think he ever did.

Sid nods to his knee. “How’s your leg?”

Geno feels the cup scalding his hand, but he can’t let go. “Leg hurts.” He tries to smile, doesn’t think it works. “But…I mess up. So I hurt.” He rolls his shoulders, where the weight of the last month has been sitting. “It’s life.”

Sid is very, very still. He hasn’t touched his tea. “You know,” he says, tired eyes dropping once to his mug before they find Geno’s gaze again, holding it with all the iron will that makes him the captain Geno would follow to the ends of the earth. “We never talked about that night, and that was my fault. I never pushed you. And I won’t push you now,” Sid says. “Not if you don’t want me to. But I’m—I’m your _friend._ Goddamn it, Geno, I’m your friend and I’m worried. So talk to Jordy if you won’t talk to me, or hell, fucking Ovie if it helps, just—”

"Not Russian," Geno blurts. He swallows, and it feels like he tried to take a bite out of the teacup. "Want things…not things good Russian boy wants. And I’m…I’m scare. Scared I loose…I don’t know. Reputation? Instead I lose Sid."

Sid nods after a long moment of nothing. “Are you,” he starts, then, “Did you want to lose me?”

Geno glares at him. “That is most stupid question,” he snaps. “Who is wanting to lose Sid? No one. Stupid persons.”

Sid’s mouth does something strange, and Geno realizes it’s curving into a smile. He scrubs a hand through his hair as he ducks his head, cheeks threatening to go pink. “Okay, then,” he says. “Okay. So who’s been telling you you’re not a good Russian? Because that is also stupid.”

Geno narrows his eyes. “No one say.”

"Do you think you’re not a good Russian?"

"Fuck you, I’m best," Geno growls.

“Right, so. Is kissing me going to—to suck all the Russian out of you?” Geno huffs and rolls his eyes, and Sid says, “I’m just trying—I’m trying to figure out your logic, okay, I’m not—”

“ _Are_ ,” Geno disagrees. “Sid, I figure this out weeks ago. I’m mess up. Made mistake, you leave. Then you not talk to me, give me space, whatever. When I see I’m wrong you still not talk to me, I think—Sid too mad. Stay mad.”

“I’m not mad!” Sid insists, reaching across the table to pry Geno’s fingers from the still-too-hot cup and squeeze them. “I’m not. I’m…” He slumps forward for a second, shoulders shaking with something like relief. “Fuck, I’m really, really glad you’re okay.”

Geno hooks the ankle of his good leg around Sid’s, scootching closer in his chair. “I’m okay,” he says, stroking his free hand so, so carefully through Sid’s hair. “Leg will heal. Heart heal maybe too.”

Sid lifts his head enough to give him a look. “Come here,” he says, and because the Canadian-ness surfaces at the strangest times, he adds, “Please.”

Geno kisses him. It’s his choice, and Sid’s mouth. No sirens go off, no angry Russian shouting or camera flashes. Just him and Sid in his kitchen with a steaming pot on the table beside them, both of them broken and both of them happy, and cared for.

“You make tea for me,” Geno says, smiling against Sid’s mouth.

Sid smiles back even wider, all the way to his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://queenklu.tumblr.com/post/86455573452/ill-take-care-of-you-take-care-drake-rihanna) on tumblr.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic of] Take Care of You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1754741) by [knight_tracer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/knight_tracer/pseuds/knight_tracer)




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